


Summer Rain

by Evandar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Cross-Generation Relationship, Don’t copy to another site, First Kiss, First Time, HP Cross Gen Fest 2020, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Regulus Black Lives, Rimming, Sirius Black Raises Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25166866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: A rainy day gives Harry the perfect opportunity to seduce Regulus.
Relationships: Regulus Black/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 576
Collections: HP Cross Gen Fest 2020





	Summer Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to R for her work as beta. Any remaining errors are mine.

Harry likes the _sound_ of rain, but that’s about it. He doesn’t like going out in it: it reminds him too much of Quidditch practice at school, and Oliver’s demanding schedule; of those miserable few years at the Dursleys before Sirius rescued him, and how his aunt would make him garden in the cold and then yell at him for tracking mud into the house. The thought of going out in it now, to collect potion ingredients of all things, makes him want to curl up and hide. Or it would, if he didn’t have other plans for his summer.

He flashes his god-uncle his most pathetic look – the one that Ron says makes him look like a kicked kneazle kitten. Regulus freezes in place, his fingers fumbling over the clasp of his cloak.

Harry can pinpoint the exact moment when his crush on Regulus Black started. It was the day they met, back when Harry really had resembled a kicked kneazle kitten – he’d been hiding behind Sirius’ robes at the time, staring up at the coven of sadists that made up the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, when Regulus had crouched down to speak to him directly, welcoming him to the family with a soft smile and a gentle voice that had soothed Harry’s nerves and made his stomach flip. He’s not sure when the crush turned to love, just that it _did_. That Amortentia smells of Regulus’ cosy cottage and the herbs he hangs from the ceiling; that Regulus’ voice and his smile and his lovely, long hands haunt Harry’s dreams.

When the law finally allowed Sirius and Remus to get married this summer, he’d asked to stay with Regulus while they escaped on their honeymoon and he’d developed a plan. A _strategy_. Gathering fluxweed and wormwood in the rain is _not_ part of it.

He stands. He walks towards Regulus slowly, hips swaying with every step; he sees Regulus’ gaze drop and watches as his fingers tighten around the hem of his cloak. He licks his lips. Regulus takes a tiny step back, and Harry pouts, widening his eyes further and fixing Regulus with a wounded stare.

Regulus makes a noise like he’s been kicked in the stomach.

“Harry?”

“Do we have to go out?” he asks. “It’s raining.”

Regulus casts a slightly desperate glance at the window. It truly _is_ raining heavily: a real summer deluge, with droplets so large and heavy that it sounds like the glass might break under the weight of them. Regulus winces, grimaces slightly before taking a deep breath. His shoulders square. He’s going to argue.

Harry _knew_ , when he was putting his plan together, that Regulus would offer vague objections. Some of them are probably valid – their age-gap alone, he knows, will be difficult for people to swallow even if he is over the age of consent. The part where Regulus is supposed to be a sort-of uncle figure will be controversial outside of the Black family. But none of it _matters_. Not when Regulus is kind and beautiful, and when he looks at Harry like he’s something lovely whenever he thinks Harry isn’t looking. Not when he’s so tired of glances exchanged over dinners, lingering touches and double entendres written in birthday cards.

“You can always stay in,” Regulus says, “although I had thought you wanted to spend a _bit_ of time on your education this summer. I do need these ingredients, you know.”

“I’ll help you collect them later,” Harry promises. “Just…maybe not when it’s like this? You’ll get sick.”

He reaches up, sliding his hands under the cloak and up over Regulus’ shoulders. Regulus is warm, his shoulders toned under his robes. Harry leans closer.

“Pepper-up potion?” Regulus chokes out.

“Or you can stay indoors,” Harry murmurs. “With me. I’m sure we can find something to do…”

He lets himself trail off, licking his lips again, and feels nothing but satisfaction when he sees Regulus’ eyes darken as his gaze drops to Harry’s mouth. He feels Regulus shift. Long hands curl around his waist, gripping him tight. He pushes closer, removing Regulus’ cloak and sending it back to its peg with a flick of his wrist. He can feel Regulus’ breath on his lips, the heat of his body through his clothes. Regulus swallows.

“Harry,” he whispers.

Their first kiss is the barest ghost of a touch. Harry’s lips tingle with it. His whole body feels like it’s alight with nerves; every touch, every breath, every noise seems like it’s clearer than usual. He can feel Regulus’ nails digging into his hips, hear the way his breath hitches as Harry leans back in. His lips are chapped and there’s the barest hint of stubble on his cheek. Their second kiss is as light as the first, but this time Harry lingers just a moment longer. Long enough for Regulus to snap.

Harry’s back hits the door with a dull thud. He gasps at the impact, only for it to be swallowed by Regulus’ mouth on his. His god-uncle crowds into him, kisses him hard and deep like he’s drowning. Harry mewls into it, arching his back and tangling his fingers into Regulus’ hair. He scrapes his nails over Regulus’ scalp and he’s rewarded with a choked, bitten-off noise. One of Regulus’ hands drops to his thigh, hitching his leg up and Harry gleefully wraps it around his waist, dragging Regulus closer until he can feel the hard line of his cock pressing hot against his own. He feels – 

Harry hadn’t thought about this. Or, rather, he has thought about it – frequently – but his fantasies never quite covered how dizzying Regulus’ kisses would be, how long and thick his erection would feel. He rocks his hips forward, moaning into their kiss as Regulus drags his thigh a little higher and grinds up against him. Sparks of pleasure scorch up the length of Harry’s spine. He breaks the kiss, lets his head tip back as he gasps for air; his hips thrust up against Regulus again, eager for _more_. More friction, more pressure, just _more_. 

Regulus nips at the underside of his jaw and Harry has to close his eyes as warmth spreads through his belly. His world lurches. He barely has time to realise that he’s been Side-Along Apparated before his back lands on something soft and Regulus is on top of him, kissing and biting a path down his throat.

“How much do you want?” Regulus asks, panting against Harry’s neck. “How far do you want to take this?”

“Want everything,” Harry tells him. His heart is pounding. His body aches and if his near future doesn’t involve nudity, he thinks he might die. “Want you to fuck me.” 

Regulus groans. His hips jerk, and Harry whines softly, scrabbling at his shoulders for purchase. “Sirius is going to kill me,” Regulus breathes, but he’s already unfastening the buttons on Harry’s shirt.

“Tell him I asked nicely,” Harry whispers back.

Regulus draws back to stare at him incredulously. His lips twitch. Harry can’t help it: he giggles. Regulus snorts, pulling away and clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. Harry almost regrets it, the loss of contact, but he can’t quite bring himself to – Regulus is beautiful when he laughs. The way his eyes shine and crinkle at the corners, the way he hides his wicked smile behind his fingers. He pushes himself up on his elbows.

It’s a good sign, he thinks, that Regulus brought him here. His god-uncle’s room is usually a sacred space, one that Harry isn’t meant to enter unless it’s an emergency. It’s nothing hugely different from the rest of the house: white walls and dark beams and heavy, oak furniture, but it’s private. It smells of Regulus. The robe he was wearing yesterday is draped over the chair, and his drawn curtains hide the rain still hammering down outside. On his dresser is a half-empty bottle of cologne, and posies of dried roses, sage, and St John’s wort hang over his bed. There’s a picture on his nightstand – one Harry recognises from last Yule: he stands by the fireplace in Grimmauld Place, Regulus’ arm draped over his shoulders. 

Regulus wants this too, he realises. Despite his previous objections, he wants it as much as Harry does.

He sits up, reaching for his god-uncle. He winds his arm around his shoulders and slides into his lap, straddling him. Regulus is still hard, but his hands are gentle as they move to cup Harry’s arse and cradle him close.

“You’re sure?” Regulus asks. His earlier humour has faded, leaving cold and absolute clarity in its wake. Harry meets his gaze head-on, fully expecting a brush of legillimency. It doesn’t come. 

“I’m sure,” he says. 

Regulus surges forwards to kiss him again; as hard and deep as he had downstairs. This time, though, his hands explore, rucking up Harry’s shirt to scratch at his back and delving down the back of his trousers to squeeze tightly at his arse. Harry grinds down against him, panting eagerly into their kiss. Regulus’ mouth on his own, his hands on his skin – it becomes a blur. Harry’s only vaguely aware of the frustrating snarl of fastenings holding Regulus’ robes closed. He doesn’t know how he manages to undo them, only that he _does_ , and that in their absence lean lines of pale skin and wiry muscle are exposed to him. He kisses every part of Regulus he can reach, barely aware of his own clothes vanishing until Regulus’ hand curls around his cock and Harry’s whole world grinds to a halt. He chokes on air. His hips jerk. 

Regulus grins. “Like that, do you?” he murmurs. He strokes Harry lightly, giving barely enough friction but twisting his hand at the top of each pass in a way that makes Harry think he’s going to faint.

He nods dumbly.

“Tell me again what you want, Harry,” Regulus says. 

Harry swallows. He forces himself to look at Regulus’ face: the flush high on his cheeks and the cruel curve to his kiss-swollen mouth. His heart pounds. This, he realises, is revenge for his little seduction act in the hall.

“Tell me,” Regulus whispers, and Harry shudders.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says. He thinks back to the fantasies that have fuelled his wanking sessions since he hit puberty. He can’t quite believe he’s going to say this out loud, but. Well. Regulus apparently wants to hear it. “I want you to – to fuck me ‘til I’m crying from it, ‘til I can’t breathe. Want you to make me come on your cock.”

Regulus’ hand stills. He swallows. “We can do that,” he says, voice hoarse. 

He guides Harry back onto the bed, mutters spells under his breath that leave him feeling weirdly empty and slick with lubricant. He feels his face heat as Regulus pushes his legs up and apart, and he has to resist the urge to cover his face with his hands. It’s worth it, he thinks, to be able to see Regulus looking down at him. The hunger in his expression as he leans closer.

He was expecting Regulus to use his hands to prep him. He’s dreamed about those lovely long fingers opening him up – has imagined them in place of his own enough times. Regulus, on the other hand, seems to have other ideas. He uses his tongue: long, wet laps at Harry’s hole that make him cry out as pleasure coils in his gut. Regulus groans. He pushes Harry’s legs further up as he presses closer, deeper, the tip of his tongue teasing at Harry’s rim. His nose is pressed to the underside of Harry’s balls, and Harry tips his head back to stare vacantly at the yellow flowers above his head. It feels _incredible_ \- too much and not enough and _fuck_ but the noises Regulus is making are making his brain short-circuit. Pleased little moans along with the slick, slopping sound of his tongue as he fucks it into Harry’s loosening hole. 

Harry arches, helpless, as Regulus’ tongue is joined by two fingers. He cries out at the stretch of it, twisting his fingers into Regulus’ hair and yanking at it until he stops, pulls away. His mouth is slick and swollen when he looks up from between Harry’s legs, and Harry wants to come just looking at him.

“I’m ready,” he says. “Please. Please, just. Please.”

Regulus’ fingers twist inside of him, scissoring him further open. One day, Harry thinks, he wants to see how many he can take before he comes just from being stretched. Now, he just wants Regulus inside of him.

He grasps the backs of his thighs, holding his legs open as Regulus positions himself with another whispered lubrication charm. The head of his cock presses against Harry’s arse, feeling hot and impossible. He whines softly as Regulus pushes inside in one long, smooth thrust that blazes up his spine. It _burns_. It feels too big, too good. He _writhes_ , letting go of his legs only to claw at Regulus’ back. Regulus kisses him, slips his wicked, filthy tongue into Harry’s mouth; kisses him so hard he can’t breathe. His hips flex. His cock shifts with the movement, brushing up against Harry’s prostate. Harry can’t help it – he tightens his legs around Regulus’ waist, digs his heels into his arse just to hold him in place. His eyes are watering. He can feel tears leaking from the corners, dripping down his temples into his hair.

Regulus rolls his hips gently, grinding his cock in deeper. Harry chokes, breaking their kiss and gasping for air.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” Regulus tells him. His voice is low, rough, barely audible over the sound of the rain and Harry’s own ragged breathing. “So good, so tight for me.”

“Yours,” Harry tells him – promises him. He can’t think much beyond the cock in his arse, but he knows this much: that he wants Regulus as much and as often and for as long as possible.

Regulus kisses him again, strokes his hair back and presses soft kisses to his brow and his cheeks and his lips. It’s oddly tender in comparison to the slow, deep grinding of his hips that’s leaving Harry so breathless.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Regulus whispers between kisses. “Just relax for me.”

Harry does. It’s a gradual thing, that spreads upwards from his toes, leaving him loose-limbed and weak. Regulus starts to move. Short little thrusts become longer, more rhythmic. He groans into the crook of Harry’s neck as he starts to fuck him properly. Hard and deep and everything Harry’s been fantasising about, stroking his cock with one glorious hand. It’s too much. So overwhelming that there’s little Harry can do except cling to Regulus’ shoulders and _beg_. For more, for harder, for Regulus never to stop.

His orgasm comes suddenly and leaves him crying, shaking in Regulus’ arms as his god-uncle fucks him through it with short, sharp jerks. He wails at the overstimulation, only barely catching the oaths that Regulus hisses into his ear as he comes. The rush of it, the realisation that they’ve really _done this_ is enough to make Harry’s cock twitch against his belly again.

Regulus chuckles softly, snagging his lips for another bruising kiss. “I feel like I’ve created a monster,” he murmurs.

When he pulls out, it’s with the uncomfortable, sliding sensation of his come spilling from Harry’s loosened arse. He makes up for it, though, when he pulls Harry back into his arms to hold him, warm and safe and secure. Harry grins. He curls close, resting his head on Regulus’ chest to listen as his heartbeat and his breathing return to normal; as the rain crashing down outside once again becomes the loudest thing in the room.

“I’m not going to get to make that potion, am I?” Regulus says idly, his fingers stroking through Harry’s hair.

“Maybe,” Harry replies. “If it stops raining and you get bored of sex.”

Regulus laughs again. “So never,” he says. “Good to know.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the 2020 Harry Potter Cross Gen Fest. The author will be revealed at the end of August.


End file.
